The Need to Supplment Food Supplies

 

During the First World War, people in Britain had been encouraged to grow as much of their own food as possible, and a national system of allotment gardens was started.   Following the outbreak of the Second World War, the same message went out from the government under the slogan “Dig for Victory”, encouraging everyone to grow fruit and vegetables in their gardens instead of flowers and lawns, and also to breed chickens, ducks, rabbits and pigs whenever possible, to assist with the supply of food during the times of shortage and rationing.

We had a long back garden, and my Dad decided to turn it over to growing vegetables and rearing chickens.   My elder brother, Alan, and I had to help as much as we could.   I was too young to be much help at first, but would help to sow seeds and plant things like cabbages and potatoes and, of course, to pick the vegetables when ready.  Alan, on the other hand, helped a great deal.

Rearing Chickens and Rabbits

In Smallford, we lived next door to the village coal merchant, Mr. Albert Allen, and his son Sidney.   Mr. Allen had a very large wooden garage in which he used to keep his two lorries, together with all his coal sacks and many logs.   My father persuaded him that it would be a good idea if he kept his lorries out in the open and use the big garage to breed chickens and rabbits.

Soon they had about 20 chickens for laying eggs and a dozen cockerels, which would be caponised to be fattened up for meat for Christmas, as well as many cages containing a large number of rabbits.   My brother and I had the job of feeding these animals and cleaning out the hutches when necessary.   We also used to have to go into the fields and hedgerows to pick groundsel and chickweed as food for the chickens, and a form of cow parsley, clover, dandelions and grass to feed the rabbits.   It was a great help, and we were certainly not short of food.

The main food for the chickens was a home-made mash made from leftover food and wheat.   We were helped with the chicken feed by Mr. Wallace, the mobile greengrocer, who visited twice weekly with his horse and cart and would let us have any vegetables which were going a bit stale.   At the end of the war, he acquired a small Bedford lorry.

I can remember that we used to supplement the food of the chickens with crushed sea-shells and grit to strengthen the shells of the eggs, and with a strange reddish powder, known as Karwood Poultry Spice, to improve the colour of the yolks.   Just typing these words brings back the unique smell of that product.   That product is still in use to-day and is highly recommended by organic producers of poultry, for it also has special medicinal qualities.   That and other supplies were obtained from Sherriff’s, millers and corn merchants, in Hatfield.

Talking of memorable smells, my sister recently reminded me of the smell of horseradish roots being grated.   Dad always had a few good roots in the garden, and on a Sunday morning, if we were to have beef for lunch, he would dig, wash and then scrape the roots with a small, hook-bladed garden knife to make horseradish sauce.   I remember trying to help him and squirting some of the juice from the root into my face, making my eyes water, but the smell and taste of proper horseradish sauce remain with me, and I love it.

Preserving Eggs with Isinglass

There were times during the summer laying season when we had a surplus of eggs, and that’s when I was introduced to another unique product, Isinglass, which mother used in order to preserve the eggs.   I just remember mixing the Isinglass with water in a large round zinc tub which had a lid, and handing the fresh eggs to Mum, who carefully lowered them into the water.   The eggs were then put under the bed of my sister Valerie, where they would stay for several weeks and would be used once the chickens had gone ‘off lay’.

Home-made Cream Cheese

At that time, milk would be delivered daily by Mr. Paxton from Colney Heath, who arrived with his horse and cart.   The milk was not always quite as fresh as it might be, because we were near the end of his round, and in the summer, because we had no such thing as a fridge, the milk would often turn sour.   When that happened, Mum would pour the milk into a muslin bag, which she hung from the cold tap in the corner of the kitchen and turned the milk into a sour but salty cheese, which, strangely enough I used to enjoy.   The other part of the strained milk, the whey, would be used to make a peculiar sour dessert called junket, which was made with rennet.

Bill North

When the time came for the chickens and rabbits to be used to supplement the families’ food, none of the men liked the idea of killing the chickens or rabbits, so an old gentleman named Bill North, who had been a farm worker all his life, used to come round and wring their necks.

Bill lived with his wife in a bungalow at the junction of Station Road and Wilkins Green Lane.   He had the most beautiful and productive garden, and Alan and I learned from him as well as from my father a number of gardening skills which stood us in good stead in later life, when we had our own families.

I also remember his wife (although not her name).   She was a small, neat lady, who usually wore a white lace apron over her skirt.   We were often invited around for afternoon tea, and this was always simple, although quite formal.   I recall a china tea service and a lovely big silver tea-pot.   She also made small cakes and biscuits, which would be served from a three-tier cake tray.   We were taught the simple etiquette of pouring and serving tea, and if Mrs. North had other guests we would act as waiters and pass around the cakes.   She had an old range in the sitting room, which was always kept a very shiny black by using Zebo polish.

I particularly remember that Bill North had a peculiar way of walking, by picking his feet up quite high. My father told me that this was a result of working for so many years on the land, walking with a plough behind a team of horses and having to pick his feet up out of the trenches, often with quite a weight of soil attached to his boots.   He nearly always wore big boots and leather gaiters.  He had string tied round the legs of his trousers, just below the knees.

Eating the Rabbits and Chickens

Mum and Dad would skin the rabbits and pluck the birds, and Alan and I had the job of getting rid of the skins and feathers, generally by putting them on a big old bonfire which my father used to keep going most of the time throughout the year, just burning very slowly.   It was at the bottom of the garden, so as not to cause annoyance to the neighbours, although people were generally more tolerant in those days.   Ashes from the fire were good for the garden.

Dad also made large compost heaps, and brother Alan and I would sometimes have the job of turning them over, resulting in another of those extraordinary smells, which are still remembered.

Some of the food would be sold to help with the general shortage, but usually there was only enough to supply our families and close neighbours.   Sister Valerie would have her favourites among the rabbits and chickens, yet somehow didn’t worry if one of them disappeared.   It might have been different if she had realised that she had just eaten it for dinner!

My Father’s Wartime Garden

There are some aspects of my father’s garden and his gardening methods which I remember quite vividly, and which I think are worthy of comment.

I have mentioned the breeding of chickens.   In addition to those which were reared in Mr. Allen’s garage, we had a few chickens of our own.   They were Rhode Island Reds and were kept in a small enclosure in the back garden, together with a cockerel.

The orderly nature of father’s garden was a marvel to me, with straight lines and perfect spacing, something my brother was to learn and to emulate in his adult life.   Precision was of great importance, down to the weeding, pruning, taking of cuttings and saving of seed.

The system of trenching, digging and manuring played an important part.   Father always had two areas which were trenched, one for the runner beans and one for the celery plants.

Separate heaps for manure, compost and soot were also maintained.   The soot came both from our own chimneys and those of any neighbours who did not wish to keep theirs.   This was kept in a bunker with wooden sides and an old piece of lino or carpet to keep it as dry as possible, whilst it weathered.   If used too early, soot will burn any small plants, and if left out uncovered, rain will wash the various elements out of the soot and into the soil beneath, rendering the soot useless and the soil too hot.   The soot would be incorporated into soil prepared for the growing of onions and also for the celery trench.

Crop rotation was something else which my father used with precision, as well as using the correct feeds or fertilizers, in the correct quantities and at the proper time.   This is where the correct procedures for producing manure, compost and other fertilizers were instilled into Alan and me.

In addition to the farmers, several local trades-people had horses, and we always had a galvanised bucket and a small shovel handy to collect any horse manure from the nearby roads and lanes.   (That is if Bill North or one of the other neighbours hadn’t got there first!)   This would generally be incorporated into the heap which contained the litter from the chickens and rabbits.

On occasions (and I think this probably depended on the time of the year) father would shovel some of the horse muck into a sack, tie it up and place it in an old galvanised metal tank filled with water, which was kept beside the chicken shed.   This would be stirred from time to time and produced valuable liquid manure for use on tomatoes and runner beans, once they were well established.

The compost heap contained mainly vegetable matter, such as grass cuttings, old plants, such as bean haulms, potato tops or cabbage stalks, once they had finished their growing cycle, and sometimes old newspapers, which were wetted and torn up before being incorporated.  Any thick items were chopped up small before being incorporated.   The heap was kept in a large wooden-sided compound, which would be covered over with a sheet of corrugated iron to prevent it drying out.

My brother Alan learned a great deal from our father and became an excellent gardener in his own right, skills which he still has to this day.  As you will read elsewhere, I was to spend more time in the house, especially the kitchen, being taught the rudiments of home cooking.   I learnt early on that one of the best perks from helping in the kitchen was being the first to lick or scrape-out the mixing bowls after cakes and/or puddings were made!   I particularly remember the ritual of mixing the ingredients for Christmas puddings and cakes.   I used to stand on a little stool in the kitchen to help, and every member of the family had a hand in stirring the mixture.